“Goddamn TIE fighters!” Luke rages.  “Gonna shit in their cockpits and max out the heat on their goddamn air conditioners!  Bake that funk in!”

“Whoa, easy there Red 5.  No need to swear.”  I exchange looks with my fellow pilots through our multi-channel video-link.  “Uh, is something wrong?  I mean, you’re not usually this…”

“Fucking ass-cunts!”  Luke punches his dashboard with a gloved fist.  “Motherfucking mother-FUCKS!”

“Red 5, we’re about to engage in a six-wing assault.  Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong?  Because if you can’t get it together, then—”

Luke wails, “I KISSED MY SISTER, MAN!  I KISSED MY FUCKING SISTER!” 

Heavy silence.

After what seems like an eternity, I clear my throat.  “Well, she’s with Han now, so I think you’re covered.  It was a one-time thing; don’t beat yourself up too mu—”

“I’M JAIME LANNISTER, MAN!  IT’S FUCKING GROSSING ME OUT!”  He goes back to punching his dashboard.  “STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!”

The Wing Commander opens a private channel to me.  “Kent—we gotta do something.  Luke is our only Force-sensitive pilot.  If he loses his shit, we’re all gonna die.”

“Gotcha.  I’m on it.”  I open my eReader to Kor’Thank, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

Snippets of his future download into my hard drive.  “Look, Luke!”  I ping his channel and send him the data.  “Hey, buddy—you eventually become a Jedi Master with his own private island!  And hey—you drink green milk from giant alien nipples!”

“What?”  Luke wipes away tears and sniffs up snot.  “Really?” 

“Yeah man—look!”

“Whoa…alien nipples…”  A blob of drool forms on his lips.  “So HOT!  All right, guys, let’s DO this!”  He shifts his X-Wing into a steep dive, falling into attack formation.

I follow in his wake, shaking my head in abject disgust. 

Alien nipples?  That’s what turns you on? 

Nasty motherfucker.

 

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